by Sean Deville
“Looks burnt,” Bill noted.
“It’s worse than that, Bill.” When the truck stopped next to the nearest patch, Bill didn’t have to get out to see the disease that was ripping its way through his crops.
“Never seen blight this bad,” Bill said calmly. Even with the worst of news, Bill tended to keep his emotions in check. It wasn’t good for those you employ to see you panicking.
“It’s happened so quickly,” Carlos added.
“I’ll need all the fields checked.”
“What is it Bill?” If you looked closely at the decayed stalks, you could fool yourself that you could see the disease spreading.
“Never seen anything like it in all my forty years. I’ll need to get onto the USDA, take some samples.” Bill stepped to the edge of the crop, a foul stench coming off the dying plants. He plucked one of the blackened wheat stalks between two immense fingers and instantly regretted it. The flesh of his finger and thumb began to bubble, the pathogen evidently toxic to humans. For the first time since he could remember, Bill almost swore.
After dropping the necrotic plant matter, the burning continued. Through gritted teeth, he marched back to the truck and grabbed a half full bottle of water resting in the cup holder. Washing the wounds eased the pain slightly, but the meat of his thumb and first finger had been partly eaten away, blood beginning to pour.
Damn. Now he was going to have to waste his time going to the emergency room.
“Don’t go anywhere near it, Carlos,” Bill demanded. “I want you to radio the boys, make sure they stay clear of the fields. Gather them all at the farmhouse.”
Something like this didn’t just appear, and for one of the few times in his life, Bill felt the cold fingers of fear caress his spine. He’d seen other things recently, bad omens that warned the time had come.
“Can we stop the spread?”
“I don’t know,” Bill said honestly. He gently grabbed Carlos by the shoulder. “I want you to phone your wife. Tell her to go into town and buy as much food as she can.”
“Jesus Bill, you think it’s that bad?”
“Doesn’t hurt to be prepared.” Bill always listened to what his gut told him. The mind could be a trickster, deceived by statistics and false logic. But Bill’s natural intuition rarely failed him, and right now it was telling him that what he was seeing wasn’t going to be limited to his measly thousand acres.
Nothing natural could spread this fast. Twenty-four hours ago, these fields had been a thing of beauty. Now they were scarred, toxic, an ugly blight on the land. There were locust plagues in Africa of biblical proportions and reports out of the south Atlantic of toxic algae contaminating fishing grounds. His country’s military were presently ramping up their war in the Middle East and all you could see on the news channels was the image of the mushroom clouds over Philadelphia and London.
The signs were there for everyone to see. That was what his gut was telling him. These were the End Times. The apocalypse was finally here.
38.
Silicon Valley, USA
“My, but you look well fed.”
Stone opened his eyes. Despite the voice, he knew he was alone. All around him, a vast desert expanded off into the horizon. Under his naked feet, the dirt was cracked and lifeless, the only moisture here present in his aching body. He had been through so much, why then was he not allowed the slightest respite when his mind finally fell asleep?
“Do you realise what you are unleashing here?” the voice accused. There were so many explanations as to what the voice could represent. At first he thought it was God speaking to him, but he realised that this was utter foolishness. It wasn’t the Devil whispering to him either. Satan had too much on his hands to be wasting a single moment tormenting Stone.
Most likely the voice represented his own ego, made manifest in this hellish realm.
“You can’t blame me for any of this,” Stone insisted.
“Oh, but I can, and I will. You are the Lamb who was slain and then reborn. You could have sacrificed yourself for the greater good. Instead you insisted on living.”
“I told you, I don’t have a choice.”
“Yes you did, didn’t you?” the voice chuckled. “And we both know you are simply lying to yourself.”
The ground under Stone’s feet began to shake.
“I’m merely a man.” As he said it, Stone felt shame fill his heart. Whilst the seals would have broken regardless, the masterpiece he was creating made him complicit in the end of all things. His work would condemn millions, and make his soul prime meat for the demons that remained in the Pit. How would Hell manage with so many fresh minds to corrupt when whole legions of the damned would soon be marching through the rolling fields and exhaust-filled streets of his home country?
“Yes, a man guilty of many crimes. Every minute you are alive, you just compound your own guilt.”
“Shut up, I won’t hear it,” Stone roared.
“Oh, but you will. You will listen to everything I have to say because you cannot hide from yourself.”
A thick mist began to roll in, quicker than should have been possible. Despite the heat from the sun overhead, Stone’s breath became visible, ice filling the miniature canyons that scarred the ground. Stone felt the cold bite, the skin on the soles of his feet fusing with the fully hardened soil. He didn’t try and raise his feet. What was the point? You couldn’t run away from your own mind. All he could do was accept what was happening and let the dream play out.
To his right the mist parted, the desert replaced by a ruined street, the cars charred, shattered bodies blasted across the walls and pavements. Some of the buildings stood defiantly, but most were crumbled ruins, their structures collapsed. Although it should have been undetectable to him, Stone could feel the radiation pumping out into the air.
If this was real, the dose he received would likely kill him in less than an hour, his organs failing, the skin sloughing off before his hair had a chance to fall out.
“So many dead,” the voice said, “and so many more to come.” The mist formed again, obscuring the horrific vision. When it once again cleared, the city was gone, replaced by a corn field. The plants were black, rotting, useless to mankind. Not even the insects would eat it. A result of Peterson’s creation. Wheat, corn, barley, how many people depended on those crops to survive? How many billions would die as a result? Natural disasters weren’t enough for Horn, he demanded more bodies to adorn the halls of his father.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Stone whispered.
“What doesn’t?” So rare for Stone to be able to confuse himself. Normally the voice had all the answers.
“I thought Horn wanted disciples?”
“Are you really that foolish?” The voice sounded genuinely disappointed. “Horn does as his father bids. And Satan wants to destroy all that God created.”
“But doesn’t that mean…?”
“Yes. By destroying the world, Satan hopes to destroy himself.”
“Does Horn realise that?” Was Horn oblivious to what his Father’s ultimate plan was?
“Who knows? Perhaps Horn is blinded by the lust for ultimate power. Men have always craved it, only to ultimately be disappointed when they achieve it. When you look across such a domain, what more could you possibly achieve?” The mist drew in again, colder now, Stone’s feet and calves growing numb. He tried to look down, but his head was held rigid. It seemed there were things of importance he needed to see.
“I can’t move,” Stone implored.
“I know. It’s showtime.” Forms began to create from the cold fog, creatures so horrendous he hadn’t believed their existence the first time he had seen them. But here they came again, sucking the moisture out of the sky to make them whole, the desert once again becoming clear. Only now there were great mountains on the horizon, and before Stone towered the great golden throne that shone with an impossible light. Stone should have been blinded, but he knew he would see everything.
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Now the four creatures surrounded him, so menacing and yet Stone knew they would not harm him. On each of their backs the wings still sprouted, more whole now, but still not able to allow any of the creatures to take flight.
“Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty,” the four creatures once again mocked.
The third beast, the one with the appearance of a man, stepped forward. Its neck was even thicker, the veins close to bursting. The worms had eaten further into the face, taking one of the eyes.
“Come and see,” it said, pointing past the throne towards a hill that hadn’t been there seconds before. There were three horsemen now. The third rode a black horse, his arm holding aloft a rusty set of scales. At first, Stone couldn’t see the rider’s face because it was hidden by the black hood, but it pulled the cloth back to reveal a face Stone had seen before. A man of importance, Horn had called him, someone whose research would change the world.
It was the face of Peterson, a man who had been forced into creating something so deadly. Peterson had wanted to be spared mention in Stone’s book, but now that was impossible. The scientist’s visage was the face of the third horseman, the man who represented pestilence and hunger.
“Hunger. It makes people so ripe for what is to come,” the third horseman said. He seemed sad to be saying the words, but Stone knew there was no empathy within this man. He had created a means to destroy humanity’s food source. He paved the way for the final horseman who would be responsible for the deaths of so many.
Who would be the face on that rider? For a moment, Stone held in his thoughts a ridiculous notion. What if the final face was his own? Surely it wouldn’t be.
Stone wasn’t that important.
***
Over the monitor, Horn watched his captive sleep. Professor Stone, the wordsmith and unknowing prophet was essential to the Satanic plan unfolding. At first Horn hadn’t realised how important. Had Stone just seen the face of another horseman? Was another seal about to crack?
For some reason, Stone was the key to it all. That much was becoming clear.
Horn had to admit, he was happy with the way things were playing out. Everything seemed to be going to plan. The Inquisition were on the run, the Vatican abandoned and the Pope close to death. All these things had to happen for Satan’s majesty to finally be unleashed.
Still the Inquisition were a threat, but Horn reckoned he had the answer to that. Even now his scientists were excitedly investigating the blood samples that had been delivered by secret courier. The blood from the Inquisitor captured in London. Within those samples hid the DNA that would reveal how some of humanity were able to withstand the honour of being possessed.
When the time came, when the gates finally failed and the hordes were unleashed, those who could withstand possession would need to be eliminated. The Inquisitor’s blood would help with that. It would help more than anyone could possibly imagine.
Hierarchy of hell
Satanael
The Fallen - Lucifer, Belial, Azazel, Leviathan, Mammon, Belphegor, Asmodeus
Kings - Baal, Paimonia, Beleth, Purson, Asmodai, Vine, Balam, Zagan, Belhor
Dukes - Amdusias, Agreas, Valefar, Barbatos, Gusion, Eligos, Zepar, Bathin, Saleos, Aim, Buné, Berith, Astaroth, Focalor, Vepar, Vual, Crocell, Allocer
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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ALSO BY SEAN DEVILLE
Have you read them all?
The Necropolis Trilogy
Cobra Z (Book 1)
What if one day you find your world suddenly torn apart? Entranced by your daily routine, you hear the terrifying news that makes your blood run cold. A devastating man-made virus has been unleashed on the world, a virus so lethal that it rapidly turns everyone it infects into rabid, blood crazed killers. Maniacs so devoid of humanity that their only goal in life is to rip the flesh from your very body, and kill or infect the people you love the most.
Would you panic? Would you rush from your desk in a frantic attempt to save your children? Would you hunker down, and hope the infection somehow passes you by, praying to whatever God you think will help? And what if the very people you care for so deeply are the ones clawing at your door, their blood-smeared faces screaming for the destruction of your soul?
How would you survive in such a world? And would you even want to?
Buy it here
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The Lazarus Chronicles (a 5 book series)
The Spread: Book 1
Scientists told us the dead would never walk the Earth. They were wrong.
They call it Lazarus. A virus so deadly that it kills and resurrects virtually everybody it infects. Bangkok becomes the first city to fall to the unstoppable army of the undead…but this is only the beginning. By the time the news channels are reporting on the devastated Thai capital, the virus has already spread around the globe.
Growing, infecting…spreading.
One by one reports come in from other countries. The dead are getting back up… and they’re killing everything in their path.
In the UK, clandestine government agent Nick Carter and his team find themselves faced with their deadliest enemy yet as they are forced to deal with the countries first outbreak.
Yet in the depths of this tragedy, they find a glimmer of hope. A woman, a single survivor from the outbreak, someone whose blood might hold the secret to defeating the virus. Could she be humanity’s only chance of salvation?
Or is it already too late?
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Another apocalyptic short story from Sean Deville